


Beakers and Bullets

by tardisandjam



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Beauty and the Beast AU, Celebrity AU, Doctor Who AU, F/M, Immortality, M/M, Multi, ghost jemma, prompt fills, there is so much angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-04-02 23:45:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4078480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tardisandjam/pseuds/tardisandjam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of prompt fills, originally posted on Tumblr. Various pairings, prompts, aus, etc. Ratings may vary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Laughter Lines

**Author's Note:**

> “What were you going to say then?”
> 
> She laughs, and at that very moment he decides all he wants to do is make her laugh like this. “Quite honestly, I’ve forgotten.”
> 
> Written for week 14 of WSWinter (yes, I realize it's now summer) for the prompts 'laughter' and 'lips'.

**i.**

She’s laughing the first time he kisses her.

It’s just them in the lab- Fitz is upstairs with Skye watching some godawful 80s film, Coulson’s been in his office for an hour, and May is in the cockpit. He takes advantage of the fact that they haven’t been assigned a mission yet and heads down to the cargo bay, wrapping his hands as he heads down the stairs.

He likes his alone time. It’s good for him to be on his own when he can. He hadn’t lied when he told Coulson he works alone— it’s not that he hates having to watch out for the others. It’s that he’d rather only have himself to take care, so he couldn’t fail anyone again.

He’d been hitting the punching bag when there’s a sharp pain in his knuckles, and he swears loudly. Of course he thinks he’s alone, after all, otherwise he would’ve tried to muffle his words. A few more choice swears tumble from his lips before there’s a soft, nervous cough coming from behind him.

Jemma is standing there, hands folded neatly in front of her, brown hair pulled away from her face in a low ponytail. She’s got her lab coat and goggles on, soft pink lips curled into a concerned smile. Grant’s spoken a bit to everyone on the Bus, but least of all to her. There’s few things the two have in common, and he often finds himself confused and lost around the biochemist.

“Are you alright, Ward?”

She sounds so worried, so fearful that he can’t lie to her. He sighs and rests his forehead against the bag for a brief moment before turning to face her. Her brows are furrowed, lips pursed faintly. He huffs.

“I hit the bag wrong, that’s all.”

She hesitates in the door before moving to him, pushing her goggles up onto her hair and taking his hand. “Do you mind?” she murmurs, motioning to the wraps. He gives her a short nod and she unwraps them, rubbing her thumb gently over the skin and freezing when he hisses. “There?”

He nods and she all but drags him into the lab and pushes him into Fitz’s vacant seat, pulling her seat near so she can examine his knuckles. Once she’s sure it’s not something serious she scoots back, putting space between them.

He’s surprised to find himself almost disappointed at this turn of events.

“Thanks.”

She seems almost shocked, but her lips curve into a sweet smile. “No problem.” Jemma gets up and moves back to whatever she was working on before he distracted her, but he doesn’t want to move. His hand is still throbbing like all hell. There’s something magical about the way the biochemist works, brows scrunched together as she concentrates, little snippets of tunes hummed under her breath.

She doesn’t seem to notice he’s still there until she looks up again nearly ten minutes later, jumping. “I thought you left.”

He can’t help it. He laughs softly, shaking his head at her as he stands. “I can, if you want me to.”

He’s surprised to see her shake her head. He would’ve thought she’d want him out of her way so she could science away. He’s not going to complain, though.

“It’s awfully quiet without Fitz. Not that I’m not grateful for the privacy, but sometimes I like to work without him around.”

“I work better alone.”

She eyes him then, lips pressed together thoughtfully. “I suppose to an extent everyone does. It would depend on the circumstance.”

“It always depends on the circumstance,” he agrees. “For example, it’d be easier to intimidate the enemy if Fitz didn’t look like a lost puppy.”

She snorts and starts laughing softly, and he’s not sure what comes over him when he leans in, pressing his lips against hers. They’re soft and warm and he can taste peppermint on her breath. She’s still, frozen and he thinks he’s made a fool’s mistake before she’s kissing him back.

She pulls away first, looking up at him with something like wonder. “I-“

“I’m sorry.” He gets it out first.

“That wasn’t what I was going to say.” She smiles up at him, eyes bright. “And you don’t need to apologize.”

He can’t help but frown. “What were you going to say then?”

She laughs, and at that very moment he decides all he wants to do is make her laugh like this. “Quite honestly, I’ve forgotten.”

He kisses her again, and smiles.

**ii.**

The next time he kisses her, neither of them are laughing.

This time she tastes like salt water. Whether those are tears or the fact that they’re floating in the ocean, he doesn’t want to know.

She’s shivering and crying- the water is much more frigid than he expected it to be, and he can’t wrap his arms around her to keep her warm if they want to stay afloat. Her arms and legs are wrapped tightly around him, and he can feel her breathing. She’s still alive. She’s here, holding onto him, breathing. Her heart is still beating.

He still can’t think about the fact that he almost lost her to some alien virus. He remembers standing there, unable to get in there and help her. He would’ve been more of a hindrance, when it came down to it, because all of the science was beyond his comprehension. The fact that Fitz could help her more than he could torments him. He didn’t even think before he jumped out after her- he just knew that he couldn’t lose her. She’s been a ray of sunlight, his beacon, and he can’t lose that.

“Jemma,” he whispers softly, trying to grab her attention. “Look at me. We’re okay. You’re okay.”

She pulls one hand away from him for a brief moment to push wet hair out of her face before she sniffles softly and presses her lips against his. She’s trembling with exhaustion- this time it’s more desperate, lips moving hungrily against his to remind herself that she’s here, he’s here, that they’re both alive.

He looks around at the sound of a plane overhead, noticing the ladder lowered down to them. He knows Jemma can’t hang on, so he grabs on tight, keeping one arm tight around her waist as they’re pulled up.

Later he finds her, sitting on the stairs in the cargo bay. She’s staring blankly at the lab. Only hours ago she had been close to death, running around that space to try and save herself, and now she’s alright.

He sits beside her then. He’s not sure what to say this time, but she speaks before him.

“Thank you.” She leans into him quietly.

“No problem.”

**iii.**

He likes to make her laugh.

During movie nights, he’ll whisper terrible puns and commentary into her ear, arm wrapped around her waist, the scent of her hair heavy in his nose. She stifles giggles and jabs him in the side and tries not to catch the attention of the rest of the team.

When she’s working in the lab, he’ll go down to hit the bag, making faces at her over Fitz’s shoulder behind his back. She blushes and ignores Fitz’s confused questions, grinning at him.

It’s his favorite thing in the world, those soft pink lips turning up into a pleased smile as she laughs, white teeth blinding him. She laughs in a way that makes him feel lighter, feel like he could do anything.

Then things start to go wrong.

He hears from Fitz that she’s leaving the plane, going to the Triskelion with Triplett. It’s not like he doesn’t trust him, but he wants to be in the other man’s place. He wants to keep her safe.

He manages to steal a moment with her before they’re both gone, pressing his lips to hers in a desperate kiss. It’s terror and fear and need wrapping up inside him, his hands cupping her face. He doesn’t want to let her go without him.

She’s the one to break the kiss this time, pressing her forehead against his. “You’re going to be okay,” she breathes, hazel eyes locked on his. “I’m going to be okay. It’s going to be over soon. We’re going to be okay.”

He wants to believe her.

He really does.

But he knows better. Shaking his head, he leans in to kiss her again, needing to feel her lips on his again. They’re warm and soft and he’s home for a few seconds more.

When she pulls away, she tries not to see the tears in his eyes.

**iv.**

He doesn’t get to kiss her for a long time.

Once his cover’s blown, he knows she’ll never look at him the same way. That instead of love it’ll be hatred, disgust in her eyes. He wishes more than anything that he could change that.

The day he breaks his promise to catch her, he’s dead inside. He sees it in her eyes, in the set of her lips. She doesn’t love him anymore. She’s hurt and betrayed and so very confused.

It’s not Grant that leaves her lips. It’s Ward. It’s another level of separation, it’s back to the very beginning when he was just a gruff specialist and she the sweet biochemist. It’s not Grant and Jemma anymore.

He hits the button to push the box out of the plane and sees horror on her face. He knows better than anyone that Jemma still has nightmares of falling, of drowning in the water. She used to sleep in his bed when those happened, whispering to him that she loves him, that he trusts him.

Now all Grant hears is her screaming.

He closes his eyes a split second before it falls, but he will never be able to get the image of her hands pressed against the glass, tears in her eyes as she realizes that this time, he won’t be diving after her.

**v.**

He’s surprised the next time he sees her.

He doesn’t expect her to show up at his cell. To be honest, he figures she’d rather swallow rat poison than see him.

But she’s there outside the bars, a bandage on her head, her arms crossed over her chest. He doesn’t bother getting up from the cot he’s got, simply looking up at her.

“He’s in a coma.”

There’s no doubt she’s talking about Fitz. Guilt wells up in his stomach. He truly thought the box was going to float, and from what he’s heard from the others… it didn’t. It sunk and left her at the bottom of the ocean.

“He’s in a coma and it’s your fault.”

He looks at her again and she’s crying. He wants to be able to kiss the tears away, get her to smile and laugh again. He knows he can’t.

“Why?” Her voice is shaking, cracking. She’s barely holding it together right now.

“My orders were to kill you, Jemma.” He sees her recoil when he uses her first name, and that hurts him even more. “You and Fitz. I thought it would float…”

“It didn’t.” She turns away and walks, shoes clacking and echoing loudly through his cell and through his ears.

He knows she isn’t going to forgive him.

**vi.**

When she does forgive him, he smiles.

It’s the first time he’s smiled since before he was outed, when they were all on the plane. He’s put on probation, at least as a sort of consultant. Coulson threatens him with a lifetime of jail if he even thinks of betraying them again, but there’s no reason for him to.

The team treats him differently. Fitz’s awake again, but he glares at Grant with undisguised agony and hatred, as does Trip and Skye. May seems indifferent, and so does Coulson.

Jemma looks at him like a stranger and speaks to him as such. That’s the worst part of all of this. He doesn’t know what he expects, but he knows deep down, he deserves the disgust, the hatred.

It takes him saving Skye’s life by taking a bullet for the team to trust him again. He’s lying in the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the monitors beep, when the curtains are pushed aside. He looks down and meets tearful hazel eyes.

His heart jumps a little.

“Hey.” His voice is a little more than hoarse, but he’s just glad to see her. To see that she might still care.

She moves slowly, sitting in the chair beside his bed. A moment passes before she reaches to pull his hand into hers, crying softly. He reaches over, ignoring the pain in his side to wipe the tears away.

“I thought you were going to die.”

The words are little more than a whisper. Her voice sounds worse than his- she’s been crying, and again it’s his fault. Now he’s angry at himself, but she’s speaking again, so he pushes it down.

“I was terrified, Grant.”

“I’m sorry.” He turns his hand in hers, lacing their fingers together. To his joy she doesn’t pull away. “For everything, Jemma.”

“I know.”

**vii.**

She starts to smile again as time goes on.

They’re close again, a couple again, but it’s still rocky. Sometimes the team mentions something, and he’ll ask when that happened. He can tell when he’s brought up something that happened while he was off making mistakes, because Jemma’s lips pull into a thin line and everyone stiffens.

He’s getting better at not doing that, though.

He’s been getting Jemma to smile again, those grins where her lips pull wide and her teeth are bright. Some days those smiles turn into laughter, little giggles, out of control chuckles. It’s music to his ears once more.

He holds her one night in bed, tracing the smile on her lips and chuckling. Her hand combs through his hair gently.

“Grant?”

“Hm?”

She smiles faintly, taking his hand from her lips and moving it over her stomach. His eyes go wide and he smiles, laughing softly.

Everything’s finally going right.

**viii.**

The last time he kisses her, her lips are cold.

Seven months after she tells him she’s pregnant, she gives birth to a beautiful little girl. Grant is by her side, holding her hand tightly, encouraging her. The moment the squalling infant is placed in Jemma’s arms, the biochemist smiles brightly, tears streaming from her hazel eyes.

“She’s beautiful, sweetheart.” Grant bends over to kiss the screaming child’s head, his daughter calming slightly. “We could name her after your mum?”

Jemma laughs tiredly, shaking her head. “We’re not naming her after my mum.” She runs a finger gently down the child’s cheek, smiling lovingly at the girl. “We could name her Laura? Laura Ward.”

Grant nods. “Laura.” He’s grinning at the child again. “Hi, Laura.”

Little Laura looks like her mother more and more as she grows up, save the color of her hair. Soon enough Jemma and Grant decide to leave the field- they’re parents now, and it’s more important to be there for their daughter. Jemma takes a position running one of the labs, and Grant becomes an invaluable consultant. They’ll go out into the field every now and then, but they’re happy at home.

They accept another ops into the field when Laura’s six. The girl comes tearing towards them the day they’re scheduled to leave, sniffling. She wraps her little body around Grant’s leg, pouting and crying tiny tears.

“Do you have to go, Daddy?”

Grant smiles and picks the girl up, kissing her cheek gently. “Yes, baby girl. But Mommy and I will be back in a few days, darling. Uncle Leo will take very good care of you.” He hugs her and glances around for Jemma as she approaches with her bag.

“There’s my darling girl.” Jemma moves to kiss Laura’s forehead and then Grant’s cheek, chuckling. “Fitz’s here, we need to go.”

Grant lets the girl down and watches her hug Jemma before taking Jemma’s hand. She smiles at him and follows him out.

It’s the last time Laura sees her mother.

The ops goes south before they realize it, and Grant loses track of Jemma within the first few minutes. He knows though that she’ll be okay. She has to be okay. He’s done so much to train her, make her field ready, and he has complete faith in her.

When their assailants all drop, dead or incapacitated, he goes searching for her and finds her leaning against a packaging container, clutching her stomach. Her hands are stained red with her own blood, and she’s breathing heavy. He moves to her as she slips towards the floor, pulling her into his lap.

“Hey, hey- you’re okay, you’re fine, sweetheart-” He puts pressure on the wound, pressing his lips against her forehead. She cries out softly and it breaks his heart. “You’re okay, Jemma, you’re going to be fine.” He turns and screams over his shoulder. “I need a medic, Jemma’s hit!” His voice breaks and he runs his fingers through her hair gently, cradling her close. “Stay with me, Jemma. Laura needs you, I need you.”

She coughs weakly, blood bubbling at her lips. “Grant-”

“I’m here.”

She pulls one of her hands away from her stomach- she’s accepted her fate. He frantically puts his own hand in its place. He remembers the last time he’d done this, putting his hand over her swollen stomach six years ago as her water broke. That had been one of the happiest days of his entire life.

This is the worst.

“Jemma-” he’s holding back tears. “You’ve gotta stay with me, Jemma. Please.”

She runs her hand over his cheek gently, lips pulling into a pained smile. “Take care of Laura, please… And kiss me when I’m gone…” She wheezes. “Promise me.”

“Jemma-”

“Promise me!” She looks so desperate, so scared. “Please…” She grips his shirt weakly, red blood staining the light gray turtleneck. “Grant-”

“I promise. Jemma, please, don’t leave me.” He’s crying truly, brokenly, holding her to his chest. “I can’t lose you.”

Jemma smiles faintly, pink lips stained with blood turning into a faint grin. “You will never lose me, Grant.” She goes quiet for a few seconds and turns her head into his chest, hand going slack a few minutes later and falling to her lap.

He sobs softly, kissing her forehead, her cheeks. Footsteps pound in his ears and he looks up to see the team staring, horrified. “She’s gone- she’s gone-” Grant keeps her close, remembering his promise, bending to kiss her lips softly.

He remembers the way her lips felt the first time they kissed. They were soft, warm- they were inviting. They were home to him.

He kisses her one last time, and they’re cold.


	2. Miss Missing You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The funeral is a miserable affair.
> 
> The team sits in the front row with him and Laura and Jemma’s parents, who are weeping uncontrollably at the loss of their only child. Grant barely knows them, but he hurts just as much as they do. Laura’s lip is trembling but she isn’t crying, trying to stay strong."
> 
> Written for week 15 of WSWinter, for the prompt 'mourning'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a direct continuation of Laughter Lines, which you should read first.

**ix.**

He draws into himself after he loses Jemma.

He makes himself let go of her body, lowering her to the floor, closing her eyes. Skye moves to rest her hand on his shoulder and he doesn’t shrug it off, tears streaming down his cheeks. He can’t believe that he lost her, that she’s gone.

How is he going to tell Laura?

How does he tell his little girl that her mother will never be coming home?

He sobs again as they wrap her body, taking her away, back to the Bus. He thinks she would’ve liked to be back there- despite how much they loved their domestic life, Grant always knew that to an extent, she’d left part of her heart back on the plane. Sniffling, he gets up, follows them away.

Part of him dies here today.

His other half is gone.

**x.**

Coming home is the hardest part.

He walks in alone, his eyes still red from crying. Footsteps pound against the floor and Laura comes flying towards him, skidding to a stop. Confusion plays on her face, brows furrowed in a way that makes her look exactly like Jemma. Fitz is only a few steps behind her.

“Grant!” He grins. “Where’s Jemma?”

Grant pauses, looks down at the engineer, and shakes his head. It happens in an instant. Fitz’s smile melts off his face and there’s unreadable devastation in his eyes as he trembles. For a second Grant remembers that Fitz had always known Jemma longer, that the two had been nearly inseparable, and that this must be the worst blow in the world. Fitz excuses himself to the bathroom with a muffled cry.

Laura’s scared now, he can see it in her eyes. He still has no idea how to tell her, but he can’t hide the truth from her. Like her mother, Laura’s always been good about seeing through his crap. 

“Daddy? Where’s Mommy?” Her voice cracks at the end and it breaks Grant’s heart again. “Daddy?”

“Laura-” He crouches down to her height, brushing raven strands of hair back behind the girl’s ear. “Sweetheart, look at me.” He places a finger under her chin and tilts her head to look at him. “I- your mother- your mom isn’t coming home, sweetheart.” The tears he’s tried to hold back come streaming down his cheeks despite his best efforts. “Baby girl, I am so sorry, I’m so sorry-”

“No!” Laura shakes her head frantically at her father, running past him towards the door. Maybe Jemma’s out there, ready to surprise her… But there’s no one at the door. The child falls to her knees and screams, sobbing.

Grant’s arms wrap around her and pull her into his lap, the two crying, grieving.

**xi.**

The funeral is a miserable affair.

The team sits in the front row with him and Laura and Jemma’s parents, who are weeping uncontrollably at the loss of their only child. Grant barely knows them, but he hurts just as much as they do. Laura’s lip is trembling but she isn’t crying, trying to stay strong.

The burial isn’t much better, and when Laura goes to toss her flower in, she finally breaks down. Grant moves to hold her in his lap, feeling people touching his shoulder as they leave. The team hesitates, but he waves them away. He knows that right now, he and Laura need to mourn alone.

“Daddy?” Laura sniffles, looking up at him. “Can I talk to Mommy?”

“Of course.”

“Alone?”

He kisses her head and holds her a moment longer before he gets up and lets her have her moment. He can’t hear what she says, but he sees her drop the flower into the grave. Grant gives her another second before he returns to his daughter’s side, the girl reaching up to take his hand.

“You need to give Mommy your flower, Daddy.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Grant twirls the rose in his fingers, looking at it sadly. “You know your mom- she loved roses. They were her favorite flowers. On her birthday once, when we were first on the plane- I filled her bunk with them. It was right after we found out we were going to have you. I never saw her so happy in my life…” He presses his lips together tightly and stares down at the coffin, covered in flowers. “Jemma… I love you so much. And I’m going to miss you more than anything. And I- I don’t know how to do this without you.” There’s nothing else he can say, nothing else he wants to say that she doesn’t already know. He drops the flower into the ground. “Goodbye, love.”

He pauses before he turns and walks away with his daughter.

**xii.**

It takes him years before he can handle talking about her again.

He visits her grave several times a month, taking Laura with him when she wants to go. As the girl gets older, Grant sees more of his lost love in his daughter- the way her hazel eyes light up with enthusiasm, the silly sarcasm, the way Laura scrunches her nose when she’s amused. It breaks his heart in devastating ways when she says something, sounding exactly like Jemma.

He’s not surprised when Laura tells him she’s going into SHIELD. He is surprised, however, when she tells him she’s going into operations. Grant’s well into his fifties now, his little girl twenty years old.

“I’ll be okay, Dad,” she mumbles as she hugs him goodbye at the airport. Laura’s bags are checked in and packed with everything she needs. “Besides, Aunt Skye’s at the Academy. She’ll keep an eye on me if anything happens.”

“I know, Laura, but I worry about you.” He smiles down at his daughter, trying not to cry for her sake. “You just call if you need anything, alright? Try and be safe. I know that’ll be hard, but try for your old man.”

“Not old.” Laura giggles softly, sobering for a moment as she looks up at him. “Dad… Do you think Mom would be proud of me?”

He pauses, smiling sadly as a tear slips down his cheek.

“She would be so proud, Laura.”

**xiii.**

Grant can feel it in his bones- he’s really getting old. Hell, Laura graduated from the Academy four years ago.

He sits on the grass beside the grave, a bouquet of roses resting neatly beside him.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

The man stares down at the grave. It’s neat and clean and still shiny.  _Jemma Simmons_ , it reads.  _Beloved daughter, friend, mother. September 26th, 1987 - October 16th, 2023_ _._  It breaks his heart a little that it’s still Simmons on there. He still regrets never working up the courage to ask her to marry him, even after Laura was born. Rummaging in his pocket, he pulls out a never worn engagement ring, staring at it sadly. It’s been in his pocket for years. He never feels right without it.

“Got a call from Laura today. She’s getting married. To Leo and Skye’s eldest, no less. He just proposed last night. He’s a nice boy, though. Peter’s a field agent too, so at least he and Laura will have each other’s backs- not like she’s going into the field anytime soon.” He looks away from the ring to the grave. “She’s pregnant too. Jemma, we’re going to be grandparents.”

She would’ve loved that, he’s sure of it. Jemma had been so excited when she was pregnant with Laura, he just assumes she would’ve been the same about grandchildren.

“I wish you were here for this, you know. If I’d just watched out for you-” He squeezes his eyes shut. “I know you’d yell at me for blaming myself, Jemma, but I can’t help it. I miss you every day. You should be here with me, damn it. You should be here to watch Laura get married and to see our grandchild.”

He sighs weakly and puts the ring back in his pocket before he stands and dusts off his slacks. He’s mourned her for decades and he knows he won’t ever be able to stop.

“I love you, Jemma. Happy birthday.”

**xiv.**

Grant cries the first time he holds his granddaughter.

He goes to visit Laura the day after she gives birth, seeing her light up as he walks in. The baby is nestled in her arms, a small tuft of brown hair visible.

“She’s gorgeous, sweetheart.”

Grant sits by her side and watches the little girl with a smile. There’s a pang of sadness that goes through him- Jemma should be here to see this.

“She is, isn’t she? Do you want to hold her, Dad?”

“I would love to.”

Laura gently shifts the baby into her father’s arms, smiling. Grant cradles his grandchild, tears welling up in his eyes. The little girl yawns up at him and he lets out a soft chuckle.

“What’s her name, Laura?” he asks, looking up at his daughter.

She gives him a sad smile. “Her name’s Jemma. I named her after Mom. Peter agreed with me. Jemma Katherine Fitz.”

Grant gapes at her for a long moment before the tears spill over onto his cheeks. He bends over to kiss little Jemma’s head. “Hello, Jemma.”

**xv.**

He’s not as young as he used to be.

Grant sits on the porch watching his granddaughter run around the backyard, chasing butterflies. It’s getting hard for him to move around, and all those old wounds from the field are coming back to kick his ass. His ribs hurt every day, his legs ache, his back is a mess. Thank god for SHIELD health coverage, because sometimes he isn’t sure how he gets by.

He looks up as six year old Jemma flounces over to him, plopping herself in his lap. She looks very much like a split of her parents, but sometimes Grant sees her make a face just like her mother, and through her, his Jemma.

“What’s wrong, Jem?” He shifts so he can cuddle his grandchild comfortably- again, he’s getting on in years. “Tired of chasing butterflies?”

“Yeah! They’re too sneaky.” She pouts in a way that reminds him of Fitz, little hands resting unhappily on her hips. “Grandpa, tell me about Grandma! Mama tells me about Grandma all the time, and so does Pappy and Grams.”

Grant pauses for a second, nodding. “Well, your Grandma was the love of my life. She was very smart, you know. Your mama looks like her, except Grandma had brown hair, like you. She was a biochemist, and a very good one. She had a good heart and the most beautiful laugh. It was my favorite sound in the entire world. She was always determined to be a good person and do the right thing, help people, that sort of thing.” He nuzzles little Jemma sadly. “I miss her very much. She forgave me for a lot of terrible things and she still loved me.”

Jemma looks up at him. “I’m named after Grandma, right?”

“Yes. It’s a good name, little one.”

Jemma contemplates his words for a second before nodding and springing up out of his lap, running off again.

Oh, how he wishes he could run after her.

**xvi.**

He’s been feeling more tired as of late.

Laura, Peter, and Jemma have all but moved in with him at this point. It’s not like Laura and Peter are home long enough to have an actual house. They still take field missions when they can.

It’s not easy for him to get out of bed one morning, needing the help of his granddaughter. Jemma’s thirteen now, and she’s often the only one around to help Grant.

“There you are, Grandpa.” She kisses his cheek. “I’ve got to get to class, okay? Mom and Dad are at work.”

He smiles faintly at her. “Thank you, sweetheart. Off with you. Can’t be late, right?”

Jemma grins again and grabs her bag as she runs out the door, promising to be back at three. Grant shuffles off to the kitchen to take his medication and eat some breakfast, finding himself staring at the picture of him and his Jemma on the mantle. He reaches up, takes it, looks it over. He remembers the day they took it. The team had gotten downtime before things went to shit, and they’d all taken a trip to Disneyland.

_“Grant, come on!” Jemma pouts at him over her camera. “It doesn’t look that bad, really. I think the ears are adorable.”_

_Grant grumbles at her, flicking the black mouse ears she’d plopped on his head. “I look ridiculous.”_

_Rolling her eyes, Jemma flounces over to him, tiptoeing to kiss him. She’s got her own hat on, in a navy color instead of black. He smiles, leaning over to kiss her back when he hears Skye giggle and the sound of her taking a picture._

_“You better delete that, Skye.” He doesn’t pull away from Jemma, just turning his head slightly to look over._

_“Nope!” The hacker grins, popping her p as she texts the picture to Jemma. “I think that’s an adorable picture, actually. It’s so cute!” She falls silent as Grant turns a glare on her._

_Jemma checks the picture, beaming. “I love this photo.” She shows it to him, and he can’t help but agree._

He replaces the photo before he goes about his day, lying down in his bed around noon.

Damn, he needs a nap.

**xvii.**

He opens his eyes again and hears birds chirping.

Slowly he sits up, expecting to be bothered by some ailment, but he feels just fine. A glance down shows unlined hands, hands he hasn’t seen in years. At least, not since he was a specialist.

What the hell is going on?

Grant swings his legs off the bed and gets up without issue as well, catching sight of himself in a mirror. He looks like he did decades ago- thirty at the most. He’s still not sure what’s going on when the door swings open and his heart nearly stops.

Standing in the doorway is his Jemma, brown hair tied in a ponytail, hazel eyes sparkling. She’s young and beautiful and vibrant, smiling at him, pink lips pulled into the smile he knows and loves so much. His breath catches in his throat and he can’t get any words out as she moves to stand in front of him, smiling as she reaches up to touch his cheek.

“It’s about time, Grant. I was wondering if you’d ever show up.”

“Jemma-” He wouldn’t believe it if she wasn’t touching him right now, and even then he’s not sure what’s going on. “What-”

She presses a finger to his lips and laughs, a beautiful, bright, loving laugh that makes him feel like he’s happy again for the first time in decades. “Shh, sweetheart.” Jemma tiptoes and kisses him gently, soft lips moving against his. He holds her close and breathes her in again, smiling.

“Jemma, really. What’s going on?”

Her eyes sparkle as she hugs him close.

“You’re home, Grant. You’re home.”


	3. Monkey Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We’re not stealing a monkey, Jemma.”
> 
> “It’s not stealing if you intend to return it, Grant.” 
> 
> Written for week 16 of WSWinter, for the prompt 'zoo' with a hint of 'sharing'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is honestly one of my favorite mini fics I've written. Because it's one of the rare cute things.

“We’re not  _stealing_  a monkey, Jemma.”

“It’s not  _stealing_  if you intend to  _return_  it, Grant,” Jemma shoots back, her eyes still glued to the monkey cages. “I’m simply suggesting that we bring it to Fitz to make him stop complaining about not having a monkey on board! And then in a few months while he’s asleep we bring it back.”

Grant manages to get her to look at him, watching her scoff at the disapproving look on his face. “Do you  _really_  think Coulson would be okay having a monkey on board? Besides, Fitz’s our little monkey. We don’t need to steal an actual monkey. We can buy him a stuffed one if it’ll make you feel better.”

She rolls her eyes and scrunches her nose in the way that he loves, grabbing his hand and dragging him off. “Fine. No monkey- but you can explain it to Fitz later why he won’t ever have his dream pet!”

“I think I can handle that.”

—

They have the same conversation outside the penguin, sea otter, and ostrich exhibit. (He’s still not sure why she wants those three, but he doesn’t question it. He’s stopped questioning her want for strange animals aboard the plane. He stopped asking after he found a dead cat next to his food in the fridge two months ago.)

“You know, I don’t remember the last time I was at the zoo,” he mentions as they find a spot to sit.

Jemma kicks her slippers off and moves her feet into his lap, smiling at his grimace as she takes a bite of her ice cream. “Oh, I haven’t gone since I was in the Academy. Class field trip. Some of the older ones in my year thought it was childish, but I enjoyed it, actually. It was about a month after Fitz and I first spoke, so we spent most of the trip together. We were the youngest in our year.”

Grant smirks a little at her, leaning forward to steal the ice cream. “And let me guess. You spent the  **entire**  time outside the monkey cages?”

“Actually no. I dragged him into the reptile house! I was fascinated with snakes and such at the time. Should’ve seen him squirm.” Jemma pouts at the loss of her ice cream, but then again, it’s awfully attractive to watch him eat it instead. “I feel bad, I laughed a little.”

There’s something like mischief in Grant’s face, and there’s a sinking feeling in Jemma’s stomach. “He’s afraid of snakes?”

“No! He’s not. He was just.. unnerved by them.” She leans into him with a small, hopeful smile. “Promise me you won’t tease him about it?”

“Oh, I won’t tease him about it.”

—

When they stop at the gift shop later, Grant buys a few rubber snakes. Jemma pretends not to see and buys gifts for the rest of the team instead.

—

The next morning, when there’s a scream from Fitz’s bunk, and laughter from Grant’s, Jemma regrets sharing that information with her idiot specialist boyfriend.


	4. Sky Full of Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He’s lost track of how long he’s been in the woods.
> 
> Still, it’s better than home. Home is abuse and rage and words that cut like glass. And actual glass. The woods are safe, and he has Buddy with him. That’s all he needs, right? A boy and his dog, making a life for themselves."
> 
> Written for week 18 of WSWinter, for the prompts 'alternate universe' and 'cosmic'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, this was written when I still had my Doctor Who au!Simmons RP account. Which explains this train wreck that I still love so much.

He’s lost track of how long he’s been in the woods.

Still, it’s better than home. Home is abuse and rage and words that cut like glass. And actual glass. The woods are safe, and he has Buddy with him. That’s all he needs, right? A boy and his dog, making a life for themselves.

The only problem is food.

Shelter.

Well. Just about everything.

He’s pressed against a tree, Buddy snuggling into his side, when he hears it. It sounds like a whining sort of groan, something like a horn getting strangled to death. A high pitched, very annoying horn. Once it stops he gets up, tugging gently at his coat and motioning for Buddy to be quiet so he could investigate.

The sound of voices float to him and he freezes in place. He’s almost forgotten how to talk to people, how to smile at them.

“This seems like the wrong place, John.” A woman’s voice, accented, almost teasing. “I thought we were aiming for a beach?”

Another voice joins in. “Sure, this is a beach!” It’s another accent, a male, but not the same as the woman’s.

“Dad, this is not a beach.” It’s another female, but she sounds younger- maybe his age? He can’t tell.

He tries to peek out a little from behind the tree, frowning at the sight. Three people gathered around a bulky blue box. POLICE BOX, it says. Why the hell is there a police box in the woods? Either way, he shakes it off, matching voices to faces. The first woman is a blonde, probably late thirties. The man has brown hair that defies gravity, sticking up in all different directions.

He was right about the younger woman, she’s definitely near his age. She’s got wavy brown hair that falls to the middle of her back. She has to be the other two’s daughter. He can see the resemblance in the facial expressions.

Buddy lets out a soft whine and the three turn, spotting him. He freezes again before the daughter bounds over to him with a bright smile that could light up a room.

“Hello!” Nothing in her face reads disgust or disdain- it’s all cheer and excitement. “What’s your name? I’m Jemma!”

His mouth moves but no sound comes out, and it requires a few hard swallows for him to get his name out. “Grant.”

Jemma catches sight of Buddy a second later and lets out what could only be classified as a squeal, dropping to her knees on the dirty ground to pet the dog. “Oh, what a gorgeous darling. What’s your name, hmm? Such a good puppy!”

Grant could laugh, scratching his neck as he answers. “Buddy, his name’s Buddy.” He looks up at them. “Who are you people?”

Jemma takes a break briefly to look up at him. “Like I said. I’m Jemma. Those are my parents, Rose and John- we’re time travelers! Also space travelers. Time and space, all of it!” She stands with a smile. “What about you, Grant? Who are you?”

“I’m-” He swallows again. “I’m nobody.”

She takes his hand. “Everybody’s somebody.” She shoots a look at her parents with a soft smile before tugging him towards the box. “You just need the right push. And a shower.”

—

Sometimes Grant Ward still isn’t sure how he got roped onto traveling with the Tyler-Simmons. It’s been four years since they’ve rescued him and Buddy from the woods, and he still can’t believe it. He’s seen things he never dreamed of.

And the Tylers… They’re good to him.

Rose Tyler is a mother to him. The day they found him, she insisted on giving him a full health check up and a proper hair cut. Day in and day out she keeps an eye on him, encouraging him. She embodies goodness and grace and love in a way he’s never really gotten.

John Simmons treats him like a son, teaching him how to build things from scraps, how to resolve things without violence. He homeschools him in academic subjects, but also in how to show mercy, how to do the right thing even when it’s difficult. He tells him about fixed points in time, how certain things are always meant to happen.

Jemma Tyler Simmons is probably one of the best things. She’s clever and a little awkward sometimes, but he likes that. He thinks she’s cute when she grins. They study together occasionally, but more often than not, the two of them and Buddy get into highly competitive games of hide and seek in the TARDIS. She tends to win, because she’s been there longer, he thinks.

(She says she’s just more talented.)

She’s joy and laughter and everything good in his world, along with Buddy. It’s her that he sticks to when they’re exploring an alien planet, and it’s her hand he reaches for when they get into trouble. It’s always her.

He’s pretty sure falling in love with her is a fixed point in time.

—

When Jemma’s twenty five, John gives her the TARDIS. While she and Rose are off crying, John pulls him aside, voice softer than usual.

“You take care of her, alright?” There’s no question in his voice- Grant is staying with Jemma. He’s always stayed with Jemma. “Promise me you’ll keep her safe.”

“I promise.” Grant’s eyes drift over to over to where Jemma’s obviously waiting. “I promise.”

—

He keeps his promise.

When she slips and nearly nosedives off a five hundred foot ledge, he grabs her, pulling her back into the safety of his arms. He pretends not to feel her shaking and lets her cry in a panic into his shirt until he gently tells her that they need to go.

When she can’t manage to pick the lock on their handcuffs, he manages to work the sonic screwdriver out of her back pocket and get them free. She throws a stink later about him touching her butt, but she’s gets over it eventually. 

When she takes a blow meant for him, damn his mouth, he carries her back to the TARDIS and patches her up. And if he pretends that he isn’t more protective of her after that…. well. It’s a precaution.

She knows he’s doing it for her dad. But she also knows he’s doing it for himself.

—

He has a habit of extending the oxygen shell and opening the door to sit on the ledge when they drift. He likes to look at the stars, the galaxies. It reminds him a little of his time back in the woods, when he and Buddy used to look up at the night sky when things got hard. That was before the Tyler-Simmons family rescued him.

That was before  _Jemma_.

“I know that look.”

He nearly jumps at her soft voice, tilting his head back in acknowledgement but keeping his eyes fixed on the cosmos. There’s footsteps as she moves to pull open the other door, taking a seat beside him. Normally she’ll leave him alone during this- it’s his private time, his time to think. He knows if she ducks underneath into the underbelly of the console she wants to be left alone to think. They know each others’ quirks by now.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jemma.” His head turns back fully, feet dangling into the abyss of space. “I’ve got my normal face on.”

“No, you don’t.” Jemma is nothing but perceptive, especially with him. She reaches for his hand, plays with it. “You’re thinking about the woods again.”

He hates how well she can read him. She’s always been able to.

“A little. I used to look up at the sky at night. The stars- they always seemed so far away. Now they aren’t. They were always these bright beacons at night, just far away and alien.”

She lets out a soft chuckle. “I like to think about the first law of thermodynamics.” At his confused glance, Jemma smiles, weaving her fingers through his. “No energy in the universe is created and none is destroyed. So every bit of us was something before. Maybe even a star. And one day, we’ll be part of those stars again.”

He leans in and kisses her, and it’s like a supernova. Her lips are soft and sweet against his, and when he pulls away, the stars are reflected in her hazel eyes. 

—

When she turns thirty, she mentions settling down. Grant’s not sure he can handle that. He’s spent the last fifteen years traveling through all of time and space at her side.

She reaches for his hand, intertwines his fingers with hers.

“We’ll do it together, Grant. You and me. Just like we always have.”


	5. keep you like an oath (may nothing but death do us part)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Jemma.” His voice is low, firm but gentle. “You need to get some rest.”
> 
> She sighs a little at that- he’s certainly been overprotective recently, ever since she’d gone to the city to turn in some paperwork for her doctorate and nearly been run over by someone who had enchanted their Ferrari to go far too fast. He refuses to let her leave without supervision now, even to visit her village.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for WSSummer prompt 'Beast'. Because, hell, somebody's gotta do it. 
> 
> Title is from Uma Thurman by Fall Out Boy. How it relates exactly, I don't know, but the lyric keeps playing over and over and it fits in my head, so there.

She’s working on her third thesis in the library when she feels a hand settle on her shoulder, warm and comforting. A slight smile touches her lips as she leans her head back against the solid body. Normally he won’t say a word- he’s always enjoyed watching her work, even before they had gotten close. He likes to say that he enjoys the intense look of concentration she gets when she’s trying to write.

She thinks that it’s because he still feels lonely, isolated, and that he needs to remember that she’s there. He’d spent so many years cutting himself off from the world that now, even with her beside him and the staff back to normal, he still feels that pang of loneliness.

“Jemma.” His voice is low, firm but gentle. “You need to get some rest.”

She sighs a little at that- he’s certainly been overprotective recently, ever since she’d gone to the city to turn in some paperwork for her doctorate and nearly been run over by someone who had enchanted their Ferrari to go far too fast. He refuses to let her leave without supervision now, even to visit her village. (She gets around it, obviously. He gave her access to all three of his libraries. He should know better. Besides, the servants like her just a little more. She’s used the tunnel under the ballroom to go out twice now while they cover for her.

Plus, she’s got a good reason for sleeping long hours, after all.)

“I’m not tired, Grant.” She turns in her chair to look up at him, grimacing at the stern look on his face. He wouldn’t be so easily persuaded to let the matter drop with a few kisses and a bat of her eyelashes this time, so she tries another tactic. “I’ve eaten and I went out into the gardens today. It’s not as if I’ve been bent over this thesis all day. And I did rest all morning, so there’s no need for you to worry.”

His eyes darken at her words and she forces herself to suppress a hard shudder. She remembers the first time she saw that look- it was after she had first arrived, saving her father from being trapped in the castle for trespassing. She wouldn’t have let her father remain here, despite his pleas for her to leave, to save herself from the nightmare that had captured and thrown him in the dungeons. But Jemma, stubborn as she was, had made her decision.

Grant hadn’t been a man then. He’d been a monster, a beast, a being twisted by truly dark magic. (She still doesn’t know what caused his transformation. Grant refuses to speak about it, but she’s gotten tidbits out of Skye, the housekeeper. Jemma knows that there are two other people involved, and that their names are Christian and Thomas. She’s sure somewhere in the library there’s information about it. The main library likes her more too- it holds a grudge against Grant for pretty much abandoning it during the curse.) He had tried to be nice to her and she had spurned him, calling him names and throwing insults. Jemma had chosen to stay, but she obviously wasn’t fine with the situation. It had ended with her locked in her room, miserable and unhappy.

She thinks that sometimes now, even with him back to being a human, that she can see traces of the beast still left behind. (Her father still doesn’t approve of the union, but he holds his tongue. Daniel knows that Jemma loves Grant dearly. Doesn’t mean he has to actually like Grant, though.) She tries not to dwell on those memories, though. Because that means that her love wasn’t enough to break the spell.

Her face must have been betraying her thoughts, because when she refocuses, Grant is kneeling in front of her, his hands wrapped around hers tenderly. “Jemma,” he murmurs softly. He knows when she starts reminiscing. He always has. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine. Just… thinking.” Jemma smiles down at him somewhat, leaning forward to kiss him gently. “About how wrong I was about you.” She can see him getting ready to protest- she knows he beats himself up over their first interactions constantly, and she has to remind him every single time that it was as much her fault as his. “No, no arguing. I judged you on looks and that was foolish. You know that.”

He starts in on it anyways. “But I took you away from your father. I locked you up.” Grant shakes his head at her- she’s opening her mouth to argue with him, and he doesn’t want to hear it. “I was a monster, Jemma.” He knows that he was. Christian’s curse had been specific, after all- it brought out the worst aspects of him and made them visible. Even now, a year after the magic was broken, he still feels remnants of it, poisoning his blood and thoughts. “You didn’t deserve the way I treated you.”

“Neither did you. I wasn’t exactly a saint myself.” Jemma sighs. “Grant. We both made mistakes when we first met. But I think we’ve both proven that we’re far past that, haven’t we?” She moves one of his hands over her stomach, reminding him of the life growing inside of her.

She knows he fears for their child, their little son. She knows that he’s afraid of the magic that once cursed him affecting their baby. That’s why she changed her focus for her third doctorate after the curse had broken- she’d put more faith in science over magic growing up, and her knowledge on curses and spells was rather lacking. Despite how many times she proves to him that their child will be healthy, free of any magical interference, she knows that he’s scared.

“You and me and our Edmund will be just fine,” Jemma whispers, standing and pulling him up with her. “It will all be fine.” She wraps her arms around him and holds Grant close.

And if she pretends that she doesn’t notice him crying, well, maybe she can pretend that she isn’t teary eyed either.


	6. and i wish you'd come (crash into me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s always come back, of course. She’s always found her way back to them. They were meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in an effort to spark my love for writing once more, I made people send me prompts for stuff. Of course that always goes well. This is definitely on the shorter end, but the prompt list did say short fic....
> 
> The prompt was "fitzsimmonsward ghost/living person au", but I took it and ran with it off an AU I have on my Simmons blog with my friend, so. You know. It's loosely filled. Whatever. I tried. Title from The Summer Set's "Where Are You Now".

They’ve been living without her for years.

It isn’t new to them- it’s happened before, over and over. It came with the territory. Leo and Grant were gods, immortal, and despite how much they hated it, they’ve had to watch their Jemma die more times than they’d like to admit. She’s always come back, of course. She’s always found her way back to them. They were meant to be. Centuries of meeting and falling in love and living blissfully spoke to that.

* * *

It’s been forty years since she died.

It was a sickness of some sort, that swept through the country like a wildfire and burned through its victims with no remorse. They’d held her while she writhed through the fevers, dampened her brow, kept her comfortable until the morning she gasped her last. Leo had been the one to cry that time. He had been the one to find her in that incarnation, and her loss hit him harder. She had only just gotten her memories back… Not to say it didn’t affect Grant, but he’d grown better at hiding the grief.

It usually took five or six years before she was reborn into their world, giving them time to look for her, to figure out how they would approach her once more. But when twenty years passed with no sight of her, no sign that her soul was back on earth, they began to despair. She had always come back to them- always. The thought that they had lost her was inconceivable.

* * *

“They are…. so lost without me,” Jemma observes, watching her boys silently. Dying at a young age, so soon after she had been reunited with her beloveds, was unfortunate. The only upside to death? Receiving the memories of her predecessors. When she was living, the most she received was recollection of her last two or three lives. Here, it was all of them. And they _hurt_. Her past selves had had decades with the men she loved. In this incarnation, she'd had mere _months_. It was unfair. “I wish I could talk to them. To tell them it’s alright. I’m tired of dying, of always losing them.”

Her personal angel– _“Call me Skye!”_ –lays a hand on her shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. “You know you can’t, you know that. It’s against the rules to appear to the living, even if they are immortal.”

“I know. I just…. I wish I could. I want to move on, Skye. I’m so very tired of this dance. How many times have we gone through this, just to suffer?” The woman rips her eyes away from where Leo and Grant are crying over her grave to look at Skye. “I don’t know what to do.”

Skye gives her a small smile. “You’re smart. You’ll figure it out. Besides, you’ve got all the time in the world.” She pats Jemma’s shoulder one last time before leaving to attend to other indecisive souls. One day, Skye knows, Jemma will make the choice so many wayward souls have made, and move on like all the rest. It's just a matter of time, of attaining the closure Jemma needs. 

* * *

Jemma watches them.

She can’t help it. She misses them dreadfully- the nights curled up between their warm bodies, the afternoons spent cuddling outside in the park as they picnicked. The way Grant towered over her with that small half grin when she made a good joke. How Leo would wrap his arms around her while she cooked dinner. The sounds Grant made while she was underneath him and Leo behind, the grins she and Leo would share over Grant’s shoulder. The way the two of them would take turns making her laugh and smile on a bad day.

She sees them try to move on with their lives. Leo is studying his and Grant’s immortality- it takes her longer than she’d like to admit to realize he’s trying to figure out how to make her like them. She wishes she could tell him not to bother, that she’s not coming back– but she can’t. So instead she hovers over his shoulder, frowning occasionally at the overly hopeful ideas Leo comes up with. 

Time takes its toll on the men. They’ve never gone so long without her, and they keep fighting. Over moving on, over Leo’s research, over looking for her. Never do they think that she’s decided not to come back. The thought doesn’t even seem to cross their mind.

* * *

They need her.

It’s not until Leo and Grant have the biggest fight they’ve ever had– a fight that ends in Grant packing his things and storming out of their house –that she decides. It’s more than obvious that they need her. She is the glue that keeps them together.

“Skye?” She doesn’t look away from where Leo is sobbing, but she can tell the angel is there. “I know what I need to do. They need me.”

Jemma turns with the softest of smiles, meeting her angel’s eyes. Skye is confused, she knows that much- she knows from Skye’s stories that nearly all confused ghosts move on, that they don’t choose to stick around. But Grant and Leo need her, desperately.

“Send me home.”


	7. can we hold on (to each other)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The man lying on the bed is strikingly, drop dead gorgeous, if not for the bruises creeping up his face and the large gash from left eye to chin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: doesn't ship this  
> Me: will write it as it is my bestie's otp  
> Me: ????
> 
> Anyways. Prompt was "fitzward meeting in an ER" and we all know that that means angst. Trigger warnings for mentions of physical abuse. 
> 
> Title from The Summer Set's "Slip Away".

The man lying on the bed is strikingly, drop dead **_gorgeous_** , if not for the bruises creeping up his face and the large gash from left eye to chin. He’s barely conscious, but Leo knows that he’s staring at him. The intensity of the gaze makes him freeze for a second, the needle containing the painkillers still in his hand, hovering somewhat. It takes him a few moments to pull himself together, nearly jumping when the man reaches for him.

“Oh, hello. You’re awake. How are you feeling...” Leo spares a glance at the name on the clipboard. Grant Ward. “...Mister Ward?” 

“I feel just great. Absolutely _perfect_.” If Grant wasn’t severely injured, Leo thinks he’d have a lovely, rich voice. But now it comes out as a hoarse rasp instead. The snark is still clearly there, though, and Leo doesn't quite appreciate it. “I had the shit beat out of me, how do you think I feel?” 

“There’s no need to be snarky with me. I’m here to help you get better. If you need someone to complain to, I can go get your doctor.” Leo is quick to inject the painkillers into the IV, huffing. He turns to leave when he hears the man making several harsh, hitching sounds, spinning back in concern. Grant doesn’t look like he’s hurting at all, it actually looks like he’s….. laughing. 

His patient is laughing at him. 

“Sorry. You’re the angriest nurse I’ve ever had, it’s funny.” The injured man gives a barely apologetic shrug, a smile cracking his seemingly serious demeanor. 

This one, Leo thinks, is going to drive him nuts. 

* * *

 

This is absolutely, positively against every rule. He could lose his job over this. He would be literally so fucked. 

But he can’t be actually arsed to move from where he’s lying beside Grant, the man’s hand intertwined in his. Grant’s injuries are healing well, and with less pain comes a little more openness. It’s his fifth week here when he finally opens up to Leo, telling him about his younger brother, about how his parents used their political power to keep him trapped.

Leo's head is tucked into Grant's neck and it's the safest he's felt in his entire life. It seems to make Grant happy too- he smiles openly, he laughs. His laugh has quickly become Leo's favorite sound.

It makes Leo all the more determined to help him. 

(It’s not love, but he’s definitely interested. It can't be _love_ , after all.)

* * *

 

“What do you mean, he’s not here anymore?” There’s a look of horror in his eyes as he turns to look at Doctor Campbell. “You can’t have- you didn’t release him back to his family, did you? Lincoln, they’re the ones who did this to him!”

“He checked himself out, Leo. His family visited the other day and they were here to pick him up. I asked him if he wanted to press charges, and he said no.” Lincoln crosses his arms, looking at Leo curiously. He’d seen the two getting closer. More than anything, he had hoped Leo’s ethics would override his libido, but seeing the nurse’s concern now made him realize it was more than just Leo's dick thinking. “I’m sure he’ll be okay. Give him a day to readjust to being home and I’m sure he’ll come back to see you.” Lincoln reaches out and squeeze the other man’s shoulder reassuringly as he moves to leave- he has two surgeries scheduled in the next thirty six hours and he needs to eat something decent now if he expects to get through them. 

Leo doesn’t turn to watch him go, eyes fixed on the ground. 

* * *

 

Leo never hears from Grant. It makes sense- he's just a nurse, after all. 

He’s getting ready to leave one morning in December when Lincoln blocks him. “If it’s about the Christmas party again, Lincoln, I told you I would go--” Leo’s smile slides off his face as he takes in the pity on the doctor’s face, the blood on his scrubs. Something in his stomach drops heavily. “Lincoln? What is it?”

“Leo-- it’s Grant. I’m sorry. We should’ve insisted he pressed charges--”

“What happened?” His voice sounds hollow and far away, even to his own ears. It’s like the world has been pulled out from under him. 

Lincoln’s words barely reach him. Phrases like “third degree burns” and “collapsed chest cavity” rebound inside his head as the floor rushes up to meet him. 

* * *

 

He keeps a silent vigil by Grant’s bed when he’s not on duty. The man looks horrible, pale skin making the bruises and scars more visible. Machines beep steadily, the only sign of life. 

Leo takes a cold hand in his, holds it to his lips for a moment. They hadn’t even been a thing, a real couple, but there was.... there had been something between them. The words that leave his lips are soft, begging. 

“Grant- wake up. You have to– you have to wake up, Grant. Remember, you were telling me about Buddy, and Thomas… You didn’t finish the story about the Fourth of July, I want to hear the end. You promised me it was good. How will I know if you don’t-” His voice broke as he stared down at the comatose man, hesitantly taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “Come on, Grant. You can do this. You’re a fighter.”

* * *

 

Leo doesn’t bother to look up when Lincoln walks in. It’s no longer a surprise to anyone that he’s sitting there, protecting Grant from any further harm. 

“We need to talk.” Lincoln takes a seat in the hard plastic chair. “I have news. The police arrested his older brother for attempted murder. No bail. So, that’s good.”

The sick feeling of dread fills Leo once more. He can see Lincoln gearing up to drop something terrible on him, and he knows exactly what it is. He doesn’t want to believe it, doesn’t want to hear it, turning his head to stare at Grant. 

But the words reach his ears anyways. 

“He’s not waking up, Leo. I’m sorry.” 


	8. didn't leave a mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He’s like, the dreamiest actor ever! Have you seen the cheekbones on him? He’s gorgeous!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swore up and down on my life I would never write this ship. But my friend is an arse and also thought this prompt was hilarious, so, you know. 
> 
> Prompt is "skyeward celebrity/fan au", but it's me, so you know. It's barely fulfilling that ship part. Oops.
> 
> Title comes from Panic! at the Disco's 'Miss Jackson'

“He’s like, the _dreamiest_ actor ever! Have you seen the cheekbones on him? He’s gorgeous!”

Bobbi practically rolled her eyes as Skye swooned, lying on the couch as she stared at a photo of Grant Ward on her phone. She’d watched her friend go through several celebrity crushes in the last three months, settling on the action star after seeing him in some spy film that Bobbi’s ex Lance Hunter had directed. It was interesting, though– Skye seemed to be incredibly into the guy. Even more than she’d been into Chris Evans, and that obsession had resulted in the entire apartment being papered in posters of the actor.

Maybe she could convince Hunter to introduce the two of them, just so Skye would shut up. Then again, there was always the possibility that actually meeting the guy would make the obsession **worse**. 

* * *

 

“Come on, Hunter. One favor. It’d be super quick, he’d just have to say hi and maybe take a picture with her. I know you’re working with him on that SHIELD movie or something. Can’t you get us passes for like…. five minutes?” She couldn’t help but give him the puppy dog eyes she knew he always fell for, leaning towards him across the table. 

Hunter scowled at the look. He knew that play- he also knew that he would fall for it. “I guess, Bob. But you owe me for this. You know what production security is like nowadays, I’m going to have to sell my arse to get these.” 

“This is you paying me back for the time I introduced you to Taylor Swift, actually.” Bobbi grinned and sat back in her chair. This would be good. “So we’re even now.” 

* * *

 

“Oh my _god_ , I can’t believe we’re on the SHIELD set! You have to thank Hunter for me, big time.” Skye clutched the pass in her hand like a lifeline, taking in everything around her. “I’m going to have to put all of this on my blog later. Everything.”

Bobbi chuckled, wrapping an arm around her friend’s shoulder. “You can thank Hunter yourself. I figure, you seem really into this Ward guy, so… You know. A little surprise for my best friend.” She spotted Hunter over by one of the trailers, waving at him and steering Skye that way. “So– _please_ try not to faint, or something? Because that would be truly embarrassing.” 

“No, no. I won’t! I promise. I’m just really excited.” The closer they got to Hunter, the more Skye seemed to vibrate, practically shaking by the time they reached the trailer. “Hunter, you are the absolute best! I owe you big time. This is so exciting!” She grinned at the man, looking around impatiently. “So, where is he?”

“Just hang on a second-- there. Grant!” Hunter raises an arm to wave down the man, grinning as he approaches. “This is my ex wife, Bobbi, and her friend Skye. Skye’s a big fan of yours.” 

Skye almost faints then. Grant Ward is gorgeous in photos but in person? He’s practically Adonis in the flesh. “I’ve seen everything you’ve ever been in!” she manages, turning bright red. 

And he laughs. 

Oh god, she made _Grant Ward_ laugh. 

“That’s sweet of you, Skye.” Grant moves to offer her a hand, Skye shaking it a little too enthusiastically. “Really. Even my wife hasn’t seen all my films.” He smiles softly. “She thinks they’re all  _‘far too violent to be exposing Alexander to’_ ,” he mimics in an affected British accent, sharing a private smile with Hunter. 

Skye’s smile falls just a fraction. None of the magazines, none of the numerous articles on Grant Ward have ever mentioned a wife or child. “Your wife?” she asks, in an offhand manner. She sees Bobbi shoot a look at her, but she doesn’t react. 

“Yeah, Jemma- she’s an elementary school teacher. Been married six years now.” Grant smiles lovingly at the thought of his wife. “She’s not so fond of having me far away filming all the time, but she manages to fly out with Alex every now and then.” 

“I could understand that.” Bobbi jumps in here, because Skye has frozen, completely still. “I mean, that’s sort of why Hunter and I divorced.”

And suddenly the conversation dissolves into a very heated and very loud argument between Hunter and Bobbi. 

* * *

 

Grant takes pictures with both Bobbi and Skye before apologetically telling them he has to go. “It was nice to meet the both of you.” He hugs Bobbi first, then Skye, shooting a wink at the latter. “I hope you guys like this movie- I sure do.” 

Then he’s gone, swaggering across the lot to where a gorgeous woman and young boy wait. 

* * *

 

“Did you see that? He **_winked_** at me, Bobbi! He totally likes me.”

Bobbi groans. 

She definitely regrets this. 


	9. step two (make mistakes)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh my god, man, you totally have a crush on Jemma Simmons."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, another biospec prompt! This one fought me a bit- it went through three or four rewrites before I was actually less angry with it, and I'm still not completely pleased with it, but. [shrugs] 
> 
> Prompt was 'biospecialist celebrity/fan au'. Title comes from Patrick Stump's "Run Dry (X Heart X Fingers)".

“Oh my god, man, you totally have a crush on Jemma Simmons." Never in his life has Grant ever wanted to punch his roommate in the face, but he’s getting pretty close. “I mean, I understand- she’s cute in that  _‘girl next door’_ sort of way, but…” Trip shrugs, leaning back on the couch and sipping his beer. “Totally would’ve thought you’d like Daisy Johnson more- the singer from Inhuman? She’s totally your type. Hardcore sound and everything, not pop punk like Jemma.” 

“I just think she has a nicer voice. I can’t understand half of what Daisy sings- the guitarist is easier to hear.” Grant shrugs halfheartedly, looking back towards the television where the March Madness block party was being streamed. Jemma Simmons is singing her heart out on her most popular song, Skydive, and Grant can’t help but smile a little. So maybe he does like her. She’s talented, gorgeous, and from the few videos he’s seen, she’s pretty down to earth. He doesn’t have a shot in hell with her, but he’s fully aware of that. It’s just a little crush, to get over his last relationship with Bobbi.

The sound of a door opening draws both men’s attentions. Trip had suggested taking on another roommate to ease rent costs, and Leo Fitz seemed like a good choice. The engineer’s kind of quiet, but they’re warming up to him. He works for some top notch robotics company downtown- it’s good to have him around to do repairs when something in their cheap apartment inevitably sparks out.

“Hello.” He drops his bag on the table before stealing a beer from the fridge and moving to join his roommates on the couch, glancing at the screen. “What are we watching– hey, that’s Jemma.”

Trip looks over at the casual tone in Leo’s voice, frowning. “Yeah, Jemma Simmons. Super popular singer.”

“No, I know. I went to school with her. She’s my best friend.”

Grant is suddenly sprayed with a mouthful of beer by a disbelieving Trip. “What? How’d you go to school with _Jemma Simmons?_ ”

“University. She’s got two PhDs, but after graduation, we decided to celebrate at a bar, and when Jem gets tipsy, she does karaoke. There was a talent agent there. That was the end of it. A week later she was in the studio in New York.” He shrugged absently. “We’ve co-published a few papers together. Actually, we’re doing one now. Skype calls.”

Trip looks thoughtful for a few long seconds, eyes sliding towards Grant then back to Leo. “You think we can meet her?” He pointedly ignores the loud coughing from Grant, choking on his drink. 

Leo glances between them, understanding quickly. “Oh, yeah. _Actually_ , I was going to ask if it was alright if she stayed with us for a little bit- she’s got a week between her west coast shows and her ones over here, so she needs a place to stay.”

“Perfect!” Trip grins. “This all works out wonderfully.”

Grant groans. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note! If you guys ever want to send me a time stamp for any of these prompts, or if you want to send me a prompt, you can do so over [here!](http://ofdissections.tumblr.com/) It's technically my RP blog, but. You know. I don't use my personal....


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